One in a Million
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Modern day cop!verse AU. There are people who are truly memorable, unique or rare. Upon their first meeting, Pike concludes that a sixteen-year-old Jim Kirk is all three. Meanwhile, McCoy just thinks he's a troublemaker.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: One in a Million

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Summary**: Modern day cop!verse AU. There are people who are truly memorable, unique or rare. Upon their first meeting, Pike concludes that sixteen-year-old Jim Kirk is all three. McCoy just thinks he's a troublemaker.

**Author's Notes**: Some people are just win, and Wicked Jade deserves a medal for putting up with me. Jade, you have no idea how awesome you are, and I truly, truly mean that. You seriously rule as a friend, so thank you and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I figured a gift fic based off one of the many rabid tribbles that inhabit my mind might start making up for all the time you spend holding my hand and cheerleading. I hope you enjoy it.

For all you readers following (or not following) my cop!verse, this one takes place a couple of years after Playing Santa Claus. By this point, Pike and McCoy have been partners for a good while and are past that whole awkward stage. The one thing I should mention with this is that I've widened the age gap between Kirk and McCoy to fit more with this 'verse. Jim and Bones are about eight or nine years apart in this AU instead of the four (I believe) that was canon in the reboot. Other than that, this is my nod to the famous bar scene in ST XI, as well as a way to introduce some of Jim's backstory. Kirk has a proper introduction fic all lined up for when he actually meets Bones as an adult, but this isn't it. This is just an excuse to have fun.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek, nor do I make any money from my writing. The former makes me a sad panda, the latter not so much. Either way, please don't sue me.

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><p>Chris Pike was a little bit nervous.<p>

Maybe McCoy's cynical nature was finally rubbing off on him, but something just felt…off. Holidays, specifically drinking-based ones like St. Patrick's Day, were not meant to be sedate. When they fell on a Saturday, they were not supposed to be _silent._ Drunken stupidity was expected, and in some cases, welcomed. It not only kept him gainfully employed, but it also served as a form of entertainment (just so long as no one got hurt). And as a man who thrived when he was balls-out busy, Chris thought it well and truly sucked when the most action the pair saw the entire night was the last call they cleared.

And when Pike said 'action', he really meant it literally.

It all started with a call for a possible domestic and house fire, but it ended with an amused set of homeowners and an embarrassed pair of cops. In the officers' defenses, they _did_ hear lots of yelling and swearing, there _was_ a sharp sound of breaking glass, and the orange glow dancing behind the curtains kind of _looked_ like a fire. Kicking in the front door to gain entry to the home because they felt there was imminent danger to one or both parties was justified, at least at the time. Both expecting the worst, Pike and McCoy sprinted through the house with weapons drawn, only to find a young couple, stark naked and surrounded by candles, having the most mind-blowing, vocal and, ahem, inventive sex on the top of the dining room table. As the pair of cops let themselves quietly out the door, Pike didn't know who felt worse: he and McCoy, or the two lovebirds they'd interrupted.

Back in the sanctity of their cruiser, Pike allowed some time to reflect. One of the things Chris learned over the years was that Len's propensity to fall back on his failsafe setting of snarky grumpiness increased tenfold when he was embarrassed. And judging from the nearly nuclear expression on his partner's face, Chris knew McCoy was equally as rattled by such a strange night. Pike let his eyes wander about as he drove through the darkened street. Chuckling lightly, he tapped McCoy on the arm and said, "I can actually hear you scowling over there. What's on your mind, Len?"

A shake of his head was McCoy's non-verbal reply as he finished penning some notes on his riot pad. He laid the small notebook next to his right thigh and clicked the plunger of the pen, flipping it a full 360 degrees over his right thumb. It was tick, Pike knew, something McCoy often did when he needed something to do with his hands while he thought. Growling, he stared blankly out the windshield as he answered, "I'm just thinking about what I'd do if I were in charge of this damned country."

"Oh, God help us all. McCoy as President. The exodus to Canada would be massive," Chris joked lightly with a broad smile on his face.

Len simply shrugged and let his left eyebrow scale his forehead. Clicking the pen back open, he set the business end of the writing utensil on the page and started scribbling away. "Fine by me. Less idiocy I'd have to deal with."

"Yeah, but no one would want to live here. You would run the most boring country in all the world," Pike said matter-of-factly.

"No," McCoy instantly corrected. "It wouldn't be boring. It would be sane. And I would start with abolishing all the useless holidays like this one that only make more work for us."

Pike snorted, lifted his right eyebrow, and turned his head to face his partner in the adjacent seat as he brought the car to a gentle halt at a red light. "It really hasn't been that bad this year."

"Then call it a preventative measure and mark it done," McCoy grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his point. A few dark clumps of hair fell in his face as the car accelerated through the intersection when the light turned green, and reflexively, Len reached up to smooth them back into place. Motioning emphatically through the air with his hand, he asked, "What the hell is the point of St. Patrick's Day anyway."

Pike shrugged noncommittally. "Something to do with a saint, if my foggy memory serves me. And no, before you ask, that's _not_ you."

Rolling his eyes, McCoy focused on the report strewn across his lap while he quipped, "If I'm a saint, then we're both burning in hell. We've been over how well me and religion get along."

"Yeah we have, and it's about as well as you and paperwork, McCoy," Pike answered, openly shocked, as he motioned towards the clipboard teetering on Len's knees. "You okay? Are you feverish? Feeling a little sick? I feel like I should call someone to make sure you're okay. This is weird, watching you be so studious, Captain Disorganization."

"Just trying to get a head start, Mother. After last year, I thought we'd be pulling an all-nighter to get this busywork done on time after shift," McCoy said, reflexively rolling his neck from side to side as he worked out the kinks. "Might be nice to actually get out of here at a reasonable hour."

Chris laughed and tapped a couple of fingers against the steering wheel of the car as he thought back to St. Patrick's Day the year prior. Scratching the back of his left ear, he nodded his head and said, "Yeah, that one was a little harsh. Man, I thought that night was never going to end."

"Which is why the rest of _this_ goddamned night better stay quiet. I want to be ten-seven in exactly," McCoy started, flipping his left wrist up so he could see the face of his watch, "Eighty-four minutes."

"But who's counting?" Chris quipped. "Sounds like someone's ready for the weekend."

"After eight on and a holiday? You bet your ass I am." Shifting in his seat, Len angled his body a little bit more left so he wouldn't have to turn his head so far. He pointed with a finger when he added, "And you, the fountain of useless information, never answered my question. St. Patrick's Day. Stupid people. All I can see is that today's an excuse for everyone with half a brain to get drunk while they act like a bunch of rowdy five year olds."

"Since when have you ever been against that?"

McCoy pointed one finger at his sergeant. "I have no problem with the 'getting drunk' part. You know that. I'm against the idea of normal, law-abiding citizens setting the city on fire while they're under the influence of stupidity."

Chris lifted the palm of his right hand from the wheel and bit his lip, trying not to laugh in his partner's face. Riling up the man in the right seat really was too easy, and Lynn had admonished him enough times for Pike to realize that he did it as much for Len's good as his own amusement. He cleared his throat and made sure his voice was smooth and even before he answered, "Okay, okay. I get it. But you have to give us Catholics a break. I wasn't bullshitting you – it really was supposed to be about a Saint's coming."

Raising one dark eyebrow, McCoy turned his head towards Pike and asked, "Is that important?"

Chris snorted and waved a hand through the air of the cruiser. He glanced quickly over his shoulder a couple of times, making eye contact with McCoy while he replied, "Hell, I don't know. I was the kid who skipped out of confirmation classes because they were boring. All I know is that we had to find something to celebrate. Otherwise there'd be no excuse to lift the restriction on alcohol for a day during Lent. Do you know how hard it is to go forty days without a beer?"

"For you? I suppose damn near impossible. I guess that's why you're not a very good Catholic," McCoy replied with a healthy smirk in place on his normally craggy face.

Pike waggled his eyebrows up and down while he licked his lips. His voice dropped unintentionally when he replied, "Yeah, well that and other things."

McCoy shuddered hard in the seat of the cruiser while he squeezed his left eye shut. "Too much information, Pike. There are things I don't need to imagine, and that's one of them."

Laughing out loud, Pike replied with a hearty, "Right, because you've got such a virgin mind to begin with. May I remind you were the one whose brain dive-bombed straight to the gutter all on its own? Don't blame me if you're the one thinking about my sex life. I just answered what you asked in the first place."

McCoy cringed and rubbed one hand over his face. He adjusted the seat belt on his shoulder and growled, "Hey, History Channel? Do me a favor and shut up. My question was rhetorical."

"Oh, now it's rhetorical?" Chris' smile, accentuated by the castoff of light from the litany of bright signs plastered up and down the main thoroughfare, colored the dim interior of the car as the pair paused for an all-way stop. For a brief moment, comfortable silence enveloped the cabin as Pike's eyes shifted left and right, observing quietly as people meandered about the streets.

It was just too weird for the sergeant. One thing Chris wasn't ever able to turn off at the end of each shift was his 'street eyes', describable as the way he often saw everything going on around him without consciously trying. A slow night usually had his street eyes scanning on overdrive and his body tense and hyperaware. Tonight was no exception; Pike saw a man proposing to his girlfriend, a group of college kids preparing to prank an unfortunate friend, and a couple of inebriated bar patrons pleading their case for readmission to an unwavering bouncer, all in the span of a city block.

He was beginning to wonder if the world had gone pear shaped with all the good behavior when the doors to one of the seedier bars in Iowa City burst open. The pulsing baseline of the dubstep remix of Seven Nation Army bled out into the street and with it, two men and a angry bartender. Shouting and cursing were audible through the closed windows of the cruiser, and Chris didn't have to strain hard to hear the litany of four-letter words being hurled by each side of the fight. On his right, Pike heard McCoy radio in the disturbance to dispatch as he pulled the car to a halt right on the curb. Flipping on the light bars, the two men stepped out of the car and approached the melee.

"Looks like we're missing the party!" Pike exclaimed as he hopped over the curb, stopping only momentarily to survey the scene. On the ground in front of him, a formidably familiar dark-haired man was absolutely teeing off his smaller, lighter opponent, using his hands as battering rams against the prone man's face. "Dammit, Cupcake! Stop this shit now!" The warning went unsurprisingly unheeded; with each swing of a meaty fist, the wet, heavy sound of flesh meeting flesh rocketed off the pavement and off the adjacent buildings. It was, in a word, unfair.

Later, when Pike was able to reconcile his memories, it would surprise him what his mind zeroed in on during the fight. He didn't really gravitate towards the fact that a skinny, pale, blonde man with startlingly bright blue eyes was being beaten to within an inch of consciousness in front of the pair of cops, nor would Chris really remember how young the kid looked. Etched in Pike's mind (probably for the rest of his damned life) was the fact that the little shit was _smirking_ while he took one of the worst beatings Pike had ever seen during his tenure as a street cop.

Chris sighed deeply and took one step forward. He went for the instigator, grabbing the bigger man from behind. The sergeant shoved his arms under his charge's armpits and interlaced his fingers at the base of the drunk man's sweaty neck. As he completed his grasp on the Full Nelson, Pike used his legs and picked up the squirming, punching and kicking man before he dragged his charge backwards, depositing Cupcake face down against the building, right next to the car. Chris stuck one knee rudely in the man's neck to control him before he reached behind his back for his handcuffs. Slapping them on, he sat the spitting man against the bumper of the car and pointed a menacing finger in his face. "Behave, and we'll talk about what started this fight, okay?"

Spinning on one heel, the sergeant turned around in time to see McCoy literally peel the young, sandy blonde haired man off the pavement. Blood streaming from both his nose and a cut above his right eyebrow was mixing with spit and mucous, dripping in to the corner of his mouth and down his chin. A few loose beads of gravel stuck to his skin, falling to the ground when he moved his face. McCoy knelt next to his charge while he used his body to literally prop the kid upright. The young man rubbed a hand over his face, wincing when he scraped a tender spot on the bridge of his nose. Walking closer, Pike tilted his head to the side and simply observed, though he was unable to keep the small smirk of amusement from gracing his lips. "You okay, son?" he asked out of habit.

A set of unfocused cerulean orbs peered up at him through a fringe of sweaty, matted hair. Heavily slurred, almost delirious words tumbled ungracefully from his mouth when he said, "Your voice is really loud."

Chris actually laughed out loud before he leaned down and offered the young man a hand up. When the kid reciprocated with a surprisingly strong grip, the sergeant pulled the blonde to his feet before he asked, "What's your name?"

"Jim Kirk," he answered, walking unsteadily towards the back of the cruiser. Kirk leaned heavily against the trunk, turning away from the painfully bright flashing light bars of the cop car. He wavered once, then twice, and finally sat heavily down on the bumper with a long sigh.

"You got some ID on you, Jim Kirk?" Pike asked, crossing his arms over his chest while he tried to maintain his professional, blank façade. For some reason, he felt sorry for the kid, and his pity had nothing to do with the fact Kirk looked like he'd gone five rounds against the UFC's best. But when Jim reached for a rectangular card in his wallet, Chris pursed his lips and turned back into the patrol sergeant, adding, "I mean your real ID. Not the fake one you used to get past the bouncer at the door."

To his credit, Jim ducked his head and smirked guiltily. His fingers hovered over his 'ID' before he stopped, flipped past a bank card, what looked like some sort of room key, and a gym membership card. Tucked in behind the superfluous junk, Kirk pulled out a battered Iowa driver's license and handed it Pike. "Busted," he said with a cocky grin.

Pike pulled out his flashlight and examined the document's authenticity. He did some quick math in his head, checking the license's numbers against the known pattern of not-so-random letters and numbers assigned by his fine friends at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Looking up, Chris clicked off his flashlight and said, "Seventeen, huh? Don't you think you should be doing something better than hanging out in bars and getting in fights?"

"I dunno. It's working out okay so far. But if you can think of something more awesome, I'm all ears," Kirk replied, his speech less slurred and eyes marginally clearer. He looked down, lazily examining the various abrasions on his hands while he accepted the tissue McCoy wordlessly offered him.

Pike looked the young man up and down and snorted loudly. "Yeah, I can see that. Working really well, seeing as my partner and I just rolled up on you getting your ass beaten into the cement."

"I was fighting back. It was fair."

"Uh huh," Pike said, not convinced at all. He narrowed his eyes and let the silence hang in the air, wondering if he could get Kirk to blink first. Not surprised that the kid possessed one hell of a poker face, Chris relented and, fair being fair, added, "You tell me what started all this – without bullshitting me – and I'll _think_ about letting you slide on the underage consumption charge."

"A girl," Kirk answered flatly after a long, contemplating pause.

Pike couldn't help but snort. "That so?"

Jim made a motion with his hand toward the front of the cruiser where McCoy was questioning the bigger, older man. "He thought I was hassling a friend of his."

Cupcake, through some incarnation of bat ears, picked that exact moment to turn his head. A flash of anger shot across his face before his lips curled up in a fairly menacing snarl. He jerked away from McCoy's firm grasp, doing his level best to shake the cop. Spitting, he yelled, "You felt her up, you ass! That's hassling if I've ever seen it!"

Kirk took two steps towards the cuffed man and pointed at him, restrained only by Pike's hand on his arm. "After you hit me with a beer bottle. I fell into her, and my hands happened to land on her chest!"

Jumping to his feet, Cupcake's shoulder nearly made contact with McCoy's surprised face. Len reacted quickly, grabbing the drunken neighborhood brute by the arm before he shoved him, still mightily protesting, into the back seat of their cruiser. McCoy shut the door in Cupcake's face, rolling his eyes at the frequent flier as he wandered towards the conversation that was taking place near the rear of the car. Raising a hand, the patrolman said to Pike, "You know what? Some things I think I'm better off not knowing."

Chris shrugged. "Sorry, Len. It's our job to know this shit."

"I'd say we take them both to jail and let the courts sort it out, but that's just me," McCoy replied with a nonchalant flick of his dark eyebrows.

"Hey!" Jim shouted, indignant. "That's not fair! You could at least hear me out!"

"I heard all I needed to hear, kid, when I dragged your ass off the sidewalk there," Len answered, pointing to the small splash of blood gracing the pavement. "If I had my way, I'd make you clean that up right now. Your mouth still works enough to bitch at me. Means you can't be that hurt."

Jim's eyes flashed at the challenging but slightly condescending tone coming from the younger cop. His rebuttal was interrupted by the arrival of yet another interested party. The click-tap, click-tap of high heels against the pavement gave away the fact that it was a woman; the ferocity of the steps said that she was not at all pleased.

"There you are!" a shrill female voice shouted as she made a beeline towards Kirk. Short, lithe and dressed in a barely-there tight black miniskirt and overly sparkly clubbing top, her fire red hair completely complimented the anger radiating off her in waves. "You and I need to have words."

Pike turned his head towards Jim and raised one eyebrow. In a low, almost apologetic tone, he asked, "You've had an interesting night so far, haven't you?"

Jim's eyes fell on the approaching woman, and Pike swore he heard the young man mutter a nearly inaudible, 'Oh, fuck,' under his breath. Shaking his head, Kirk turned towards the sergeant and quipped lightly, "You don't know the half of it."

"Oh, I have a feeling I'm about to," Chris replied, using his body as a shield to cut off the approaching girl as she blew right past a slightly stunned McCoy. He put one hand up when she came to a foot-tapping, impatient halt. He let his voice drop a good half-octave, and in his best sergeant's voice, Pike asked, "Can I help you?"

One perfectly manicured black and red nail flew dangerously close to Pike's eyes as the young lady's eyes fixated on her target. Ignoring the cop's question, she elbowed her way into Chris' personal and said, "I don't care what he did or what just went down, but if you let him go, I'll make sure he doesn't bother you ever again!"

McCoy cleared his throat while he squared his much larger frame around, dwarfing the slight woman in his shadow. He purposely let his hand drift down to his duty rig, tapping his fingertips against the backstrap of his Sig. "Making terroristic threats in front of the police isn't really intelligent, ma'am."

Unfazed, the small girl sent a withering gaze in Len's direction. "And what would you know about intelligence, Officer…" she started, squinting in the low light as she tried to make out the embroidery on his jacket, "McCoy?"

"Apparently, more than you," he answered without much thought.

He'd heard enough. Chris stepped in between his partner and the group's newest arrival, hoping to take the tension down a notch or two. "All right, let's break this up. McCoy, you take the girl's story. I'll take Kirk and find out what happened, all right?"

Len grumbled a displeased affirmative and began to lead the lady towards the front of the cruiser. Out of the corner of his eye, McCoy saw a flash of black and white dart in front of the car. At the same time, he heard a hiss as he felt something cold and wet hit his face. The liquid invaded his eyes, found its way up his nose and into his mouth, and for a half second, he thought that someone sprayed him with water. He opened his mouth to yell at whatever drunken idiot pranked him, but in the moment he'd reserved for verbal admonishment, his attention was instead diverted to the rather excruciating burning sensation blossoming across his face. Each time he blinked, his eyes felt like they were being gouged out with a hot poker, and the more he closed them, the worse it got. Every nerve ending in his entire damned face felt like bolts of energy were jolting them just for shits and giggles. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to grab a full breath of air as every attempt just ended in a pathetic coughing fit instead.

Pike peered over the roof of the car in time to see the blur of black and white tackle the woman next to his partner, right after he saw a small black canister fly through the air. He sniffed the air as particles of liquid floated past and shook his head. After a couple of tours with the Corps and more than a few years on the street, Pike was well versed in the various applications of pepper spray. It took another half second to realize that the spray meant for the woman they were just about to question had instead hit McCoy fully in the face. Chris turned his head towards Kirk and warned, "Don't move. You won't like what happens if you run," before he vaulted over the hood of the car to intercept the spontaneous fight that just erupted on the street.

Jim Kirk must have been incredibly brave or exceedingly stupid, because instead of giving the sergeant a suspicious glance while he surveyed which direction to flee, the cocky blonde instead leaned up against the cruiser and stuffed his battered left hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pointed with one finger towards the melee in front of him and quipped, "Oh! Chick fight! I'm not going anywhere! These things are hot!"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at such a testosterone-laden comment, Chris instead focused his attention on assisting his partner. He steeled his game face and approached the melee, calling out to McCoy, "What she hit you with?"

"Fucking CS!" McCoy yelled though a cough as he physically pried his rapidly swelling right eye open with the thumb and index finger of his left hand. He reached down with the other and tried to grab something of the flailing, slightly spastic girl beating the crap out of her counterpart, though success was fleeting. With only one eye, he couldn't properly judge the depth necessary to actually find the handle on a body part or clothing. Instead, his hand waved pathetically through the air as he tried in vain to do his job.

Pike rounded the pushbar on the cruiser and while he attempted to shove McCoy aside. Len, to his credit, didn't give up. Instead, the younger man blinked a couple of times, took a deep (and likely painful) breath, and dropped to one knee as he tried to wedge himself in between the two fighting women. "Stop already! This isn't helping you!" the sergeant hollered. Hands and feet flailed in every direction, and Chris was fairly certain he also saw a blonde hair extension fly through the air in front of the car's headlights. Shaking his head, he put his hands on the back of the woman who'd managed to gain the upper hand. "Watch your gun!" Pike hollered from somewhere up above. "Len, if you can't see, back off! I'll get it!"

With a growl to the contrary, McCoy answered Pike's question without uttering a single, recognizable word. He squeezed both eyes shut as the burning intensified. Unable to see but still needing to keep the odds fair, Len instead used physics to complete the task at hand. He flattened one of the struggling girls out by using his body weight to gain her compliance, rendering her arms and legs useless. The brief respite was enough for Chris to get a handle on the girl responsible for the pepper spray. The feeling of blessed relief as she was pulled away was so wonderful, he could have cried. Or, he might have cried if he wasn't crying already.

Ejecting the aggressor from the fight, Pike held both her hands behind her back and cuffed her with the spare set of cuffs he carried. He pushed her backwards towards Kirk before he leaned down to lay one hand on McCoy's right shoulder. "Get up. I got this."

McCoy shifted his weight, releasing his hold on the slippery but tiny woman. With both eyes swollen shut, Len did his best to follow Chris' voice, blinking profusely while he tried to keep his hands from moving of their own volition towards his eyes. "Got her?"

"Yeah," Pike replied, leaning over at the waist to snag a set of McCoy's cuffs. He grabbed a shoulder of his third detainee. At the same time, Len shifted his weight just enough to free the girl's legs. It seemed like such a benign, safe move that they'd pulled off perfectly and without incident countless times previous. But this time, before Pike had any time to react, one red stiletto pump flashed through the air as the girl executed a reflexive upkick that would have made the most skilled Brazilian ju jistu fighter proud. The sound of fake leather connecting with soft cartilage bounced off the door of the cruiser, right along with a surprised shout from the sergeant.

"Get him off me!" the woman under McCoy yelled while she squirmed with renewed ferocity, unaware of what she'd just kicked. "What the hell?"

"Goddamn son of a _bitch_!" Pike yelled right after he felt his nose pop. Warm, sticky liquid raced down his nasal passages, completely choking out his ability to breathe properly. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in the back of throat, and he could hear his pulse racing in his ears as he tried to figure out how best to breathe while blood dripped down his face and onto his shirt. Pike reached up with his left arm and used his sleeve as a makeshift tissue, catching most of the first wave while he made eye contact with McCoy.

"Chris?" Len asked, moving away from the woman on the ground. He squinted through his left eye as he reached for his radio to call dispatch, giving their location quickly with the call for transport.

"I'm good," he grumbled. Unwilling to leave the job unfinished, Pike did his best to swallow down as much of the thick, dripping liquid as he could. In one quick motion, the picked up the cuffs he'd dropped on the ground, grabbed his charge and slapped the metal bracelets on her before she could blink. The sergeant dragged the mouthy, irritating woman to her feet and sat her down on the curb a couple of steps away. Popping the car door, Chris reached for the first aid kit and snagged some gauze for himself, jamming a few pieces liberally up his nose while he grumbled about annoying people near the end of shift.

In front of the cruiser, McCoy was pulling himself to his feet while he waited for the cavalry. Eyes red, puffy and swollen, he looked like the picturesque allergic reaction, sans anaphylaxis. He laid the knuckle of his respective index fingers against each nostril and blew hard, expelling as much nastiness on to the pavement as possible. Accepting the bottle of water from Chris' outstretched hand, McCoy tipped his head back and doused his face with it. Though it did next to nothing to quell the sting of what felt like law enforcement grade CS spray, it at least cleared his eyes enough so he could open them.

Resolute, McCoy marched over to stand next to his partner against the door of the cruiser, glaring as best he could through watering eyes at the three youths lined up on the curb. "Your diplomatic bullshit didn't work, so now we're going to do it my way."

"By all means," Pike replied, irritated, while he dabbed ineffectually at the blood splattered down the front of his formerly clean uniform shirt.

Pointing to the dark haired girl who shot him in the face with pepper spray, Len leaned over her and growled, "You are under arrest for assault on a peace officer for that little stunt with the CS spray." To the girl she was hell-bent on beating up, McCoy announced, "And you are under arrest for battery of her, and for that kick that tagged my partner." Finally, he turned towards Kirk. The patrolman's voice dipped and quivered, anger and frustration all laced in his tone. "And you," he started. "You are going to jail…just because you're the cause of all this shit. Get up."

Kirk's incredulous expression nearly matched Pike's as McCoy literally lifted Jim from his seat on the cement to his feet. The young man's mouth ran a mile a minute as Len reached for his last pair of handcuffs and slapped them rudely on Kirk's bony wrists. He tightened them down, smirking when Jim winced in pain. "Wait, wait, wait! You said we'd talk about this!"

"You made that deal with him, not me," McCoy growled in Jim's ear, motioning with his head towards Pike. Dragging Kirk towards the arriving paddy wagon, Len clarified, "I'm not that kind. Now walk." He shoved the still-complaining Kirk up the steps of the transport and slammed the door hard enough to shake the vehicle on its wheels. Turning to his partner, McCoy brushed off his hands and leaned wearily against the side of the wagon.

"Well," Pike said, joining McCoy as the reinforcements swarmed in to take the four troublemakers away. Tearing another piece of gauze, he pulled the soiled mess from each nostril and tossed them on the ground before packing the new ones as far as he physically could to slow the bleeding. Pike exhaled a long breath that ruffled the hair above his eyes. "At least we're gonna be ten-seven on time."

"Pike?" McCoy asked, tipping his head back against the paddy wagon as a paramedic walked up to check on the pair.

"Yeah?" Chris replied.

"Just shut up."

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><p><strong><strong>Cop terms<strong>: **'CS spray' – technically, it's 2-chlorobenzalmalononitrile, but the 'CS' has several different terms like Criminal Suppressant, Can't See and Chemical Spray. All I know is that it fucking hurts.

**Next Up**: Pike goes home to Lynn, who has a few thoughts of her own about the evening's events.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: Look at that! A finished story! Yaay! Hope you guys liked it. As always, comments are loved.

**Disclaimer**: Nope. Still not mine. Damn.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

It was ridiculous that, as a grown man, Pike was forced to contemplate the best way to sneak into his own house. He'd told himself that he was doing it because he didn't want to wake up his son or disturb his wife, but that was a stretch of the truth. Really, Chris simply didn't want to have to deal with Lynn's pestering questions the moment he walked in the door. He loved her with every ounce of his heart and soul, but she worried, most often times unnecessarily.

Pike cringed as the door that led from the garage to the house squealed, reminding him yet again that he needed to find that damned can of WD-40 and oil the hinge. Pausing like a teenager, he waited for any indication of sounds from the sleeping house. When nothing stirred, Chris moved inwards, ducking and avoiding fixtures and upholstery with the practiced ease of familiarity. He didn't bother with the lights; instead, he set his bag of dirty clothes on top of the dryer and tiptoed through the open door that led into the kitchen.

He was foolish enough to believe he was home free when he heard the snap of the light switch somewhere in front of his face. Instantly, the room went from cavern-black to brightly illuminated by the warm, white bulbs in the ceiling fixture. Chris squinted, bringing one hand up to shield his offended eyes while he made out the silhouette moving stealthily about the kitchen.

"Oh, this is poetic justice," Lynn Pike said with a grin so big it might have parted the Red Sea. Leaning against the countertop in the spacious but dated kitchen of the home she shared with Chris, Lynn was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She raised a hand to forestall any words that might have spilled from her husband's mouth when she added, "I distinctly remember you saying something just last week about how you'd been doing so well, keeping you and Len out of trouble. How many OJI reports have you filled out so far this year?"

Chris sighed, smiling like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Wrapping his wife in a big hug, he laid a gentle kiss on the top of her head before he stepped back and replied, "And here I thought you took our marriage vows seriously. In sickness and in health?"

With a loud-ish snort, Lynn covered her mouth with her hand and shot right back, "If I took 'em that seriously, I never would have married you! The 'sickness' you have isn't fixable!"

Maybe he should have used the WD-40 on his jaw, because the sound of it swinging through the air as it fell open was the only thing audible in the room. It took a couple of seconds, but Pike's brain finally caught up with his facial expression while he stuttered unintelligently. "Hey! That's below the belt."

Lynn walked up and put one finger over her husband's lips. She gently ran her fingers over the rapidly forming black eyes and the cuts on his face while she said, "Someone's opening his mouth and inserting his foot, isn't he?"

"If my entire face wasn't throbbing, I might consider trying it," Pike mumbled as he trudged through the door, making a beeline for the high cabinet above the refrigerator. He pulled down the bottle of Johnny Walker black before he moved to the cabinet for a glass. Pouring himself a healthy glass, he sat down at the kitchen table with a relieved groan and tossed back half the contents in one go.

"At the risk of stating the obvious, that rough of a night, huh?" Lynn asked as she joined her husband at the table with a glass of ice water.

Pike snorted weakly into his drink. He winced when the smirk pulled at a sore spot on his cheek while he wondered just how many different colors his face was going to turn in the next couple of days. Belatedly, he hoped Ethan wouldn't be too afraid of him. "Yeah, but you should see the other guy," Chris finally answered, though it was without his usual confident conviction.

"Oh, I have no doubt. What did Len do to him?" she asked with a little twinkle in her eyes.

Despite the pain centralized in the center of his face, Pike's lips quivered as he smiled, rolling his eyes at the same time. "Why do you always assume that it's my partner doing the beating? You don't give me enough credit for teaching McCoy all the dirty tricks I learned from the Corps."

Tilting her head down, Lynn fixed Chris with a pointed stare. She pointed one finger at him while she sipped her water and said, "I have a feeling your partner forgot more than you ever knew before you came along. You remember he was pre-med, right? His knowledge base about the human body is about as vast as yours is about music."

"Yeah, if that's true – and I'm pretty sure it is – let's not test how much he knows. I forget how strong that kid is until he literally picks someone up off the pavement with one hand. He doesn't need any extra help or encouragement," Chris answered before he took another sip of his drink. "God, I feel like I'm slipping. And it sucks."

"Hmm. Well, that's what happens when they get younger and you get older."

"Lynn!" Pike exclaimed, running a self-conscious hand through his hair while he whimpered in figurative and literal pain.

Lynn giggled out loud, clapping her hand over her mouth to keep from waking Ethan. She bit her lip and practically purred, "I like the older version of you. It's more manageable, and definitely smarter."

"Thanks," Chris replied, screwing his face up in confusion. "I think."

"You'll always be a child at heart, my dear. God help us when your son is old enough to see what an overgrown kid his father is," she said with a dramatic wave of her hand towards Ethan's bedroom. Lynn smiled at the thought of her boy, tucked safely in under the fleece Super Mario Brothers goomba blanket she'd made for his birthday. Taking stock of her husband's face, Lynn pursed her lips, laid her hand over Chris' and took a breath. With a more serious undercurrent to her voice, she finally asked, "So what happened to you two tonight?"

"Chick fight," he replied with a chuckle as he parroted back Kirk's description of the action.

"Chick fight? As in poultry or women?"

"I got a stiletto to the nose. What do you think?" Pike asked.

Lynn cringed. "That would explain things, now wouldn't it? But I have to say I'm surprised to hear you know what that is, considering your definition of fashion." Pushing the chair backwards before he could reply, she stood, walked around the table and flicked on the dining room table light. Lynn stuck her face about an inch from her husband's and started examining, gently poking and prodding the bruised, cut skin. She pulled down her first aid kit she kept stashed in the cupboard and flipped it open, looking for the fresh gauze and Neosporin. "Did the medics look at you?"

Chris pulled his sensitive nose backwards when Lynn's gentle fingers probed a particularly tender spot. "Ow! Of course they did!" he answered a little quickly while he glared up at his wife.

"Chris…" Lynn scolded, drawing out the vowel in his name. Stepping back, she placed one hand on her hip, titled her head, and tapped her socked foot against the linoleum floor.

How Lynn possessed the capability to say so much with a single expression was a skill Chris had yet to master. The look in her eyes said, all at the same time, that she knew he was lying, she knew he was hurting, and he'd better start coughing up the damned truth. It was like being stuck in an interrogation room with that new IA officer, which was a nice way of saying it was uncomfortable as fuck. The flicker in his eyes, imperceptible to the rest of the human population flashed, and in that instant, Pike knew he was sunk. He made a concerted effort not to fidget when he replied, "No."

Lynn threw her hands up in the air and bobbed her head back and forth to quell her mounting frustration. Instead, she leaned into his personal space and simply glared. "Why am I not surprised? You know, this has got to be a stupid guy thing. There is no way in hell a woman would go home with their face looking like ground beef. We're too sensible," she hissed, gesturing with one hand towards his face. Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath before she asked in a calmer tone, "Did you at least let Leonard look at you?"

Chris hesitated. "Well, I would have but…" he said, trailing off.

"But what?" she asked, eyes darkening while her hand squeezed the small tube of antibiotic salve unconsciously.

"But he might have taken a blast of CS to the face in the same fight," Pike answered as he picked up his glass and polished off the contents. Looking up at Lynn, Chris tilted his head to the side and said, "Before you start mother henning me to death about your adopted son, don't worry. We got back to the house and he stuck his face in a bucket of water to wash everything out, just like we're supposed to."

"And he was okay after that?"

"Well, he'll be wearing his glasses for a couple of days instead of contacts, but he'll be fine," Chris reassured his wife. "He was complaining the entire way back to the station about stupid people, not how much it hurt. There's your indicator."

The anger formerly lacing Lynn's face faded. She tilted her head to the side while she observed the truthfulness of her husband's testimony. "You're not just telling me that to keep your ass out of hot water, right?"

"No, of course not," Pike answered, pulling his cell phone from his pocket before he slid it across the table towards his wife. "Call him if you want to. I'll bet he's still up."

Satisfied, Lynn relented while she pushed the phone off to one side of the surface of her workspace. She pulled the chair out from the table and took a seat to resume her treatment. Twisting the cap off the Neosporin, she rubbed some of the salve on her fingers and gently massaged it into the deeper cut right on the bridge of Chris' nose. "Just do me a favor: talk to him in the morning to see how he is?"

Pike closed his eyes and let out a little content sigh as he relaxed his face. "You know, you don't need to worry so much about my partner. Len can take care of himself."

"I know he can, but worrying about him is a job I've readily accepted. You know it, I know, and he knows it," she said, wiping her hands on a paper towel she grabbed off the roller.

"I worry plenty about him," Pike said, almost defensively.

"You," Lynn started, pointing the Epi-pen she kept stashed in the kitchen to ward off Ethan's bee sting allergy at Chris, "Worry about him as a cop. I worry about him as a person. There's a big difference there, my dear."

"That's fair," Chris said after a few seconds of contemplation. Screwing his blackened and cut face up in confusion, he added, "God, how the hell do all of our conversations come back to him anyway? Wait, don't answer that. Can we move this away from my partner, please?"

"I suppose I could let you off the hook once, seeing as you're doing a pretty good impression of a raccoon tonight," Lynn said, motioning with her head towards the living room as she tucked her first aid kit back into its place in the cabinet. She made her way over to the couch, flopped down on the end, and tucked her legs underneath and to the side of her body. "Come on."

Pike let her get comfortable before he joined her, laying the length of his longer frame down on the couch. On his back, Chris let his shoulders rest against Lynn's thighs while he pillowed his head in her lap. When her fingers ran lightly through his hair, down his neck and then over his chest, Pike felt his entire body relaxing into the cushions as the feeling of familiarity and safety washed over him. "Mmm," he mumbled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Pike couldn't help the dumb little smirk from appearing on his face. "You're gonna put me to sleep."

"That's the idea," Lynn said quietly, gracefully curling her spine so she could drop a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Chris, all bullshit aside, I'm glad you both are okay," she said as she tucked her hair up in a loose ponytail on top of her head. Laying her hands in her lap, Lynn nibbled on her lip, looked Chris right in the eye and admitted, "I don't know what I'd do if I got a call."

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen."

"I get that you're careful, but it's just…I worry," she admitted as she squeezed his shoulder.

"I know you do, even if I haven't always understood why," Pike said, sighing deeply while he resituated his body on the couch. He blinked a few times, staring up at the eggshell ceiling, interlacing his fingers as he laid his hands on his chest. "But, I think I get that more now, especially after tonight. Do you remember a George Kirk at all?"

Lynn's eyes slid across the room as she pursed her lips. Letting out a long breath, she said, "Yeah, I do. He and I went to the same high school. Why do you ask?"

"Len and I arrested his son tonight."

Lynn's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Really? How old is his son? He can't be much older than Ethan."

Chris forced his eyes back open while he locked gazes with his wife. "The younger of the two is sixteen, actually. Jim's his name, and he's a little mischievous shit if I've ever seen one. He verbally went right after McCoy, no hesitation."

"I'll bet that went over like a fart in church," she answered with an amused snort. Resuming her ministrations on Chris' shoulders, Lynn let her eyes drift around the room while she thought. "It surprises me that George has kids that old since he was only two classes ahead of mine."

"What do you remember about him?" Chris asked, gently leading his wife with his inquiries.

She sighed and scratched her foot with the back of her knuckles, apologizing lightly to Chris when her knee reflexively bumped him in the neck. "He was a big deal around here – the local kid who went to Annapolis to be a fighter pilot was always news. The whole town was proud of him, though I got the impression he thought the hero worship was weird. I didn't know him well, but from others who did, I heard he was a pretty humble, down to earth guy. I haven't heard anything about him in a long time. Makes me wonder what he's up to now."

"He's dead, actually."

"Oh my God, really? When? And how?" Lynn asked after she took a shocked breath.

"Training accident, apparently. It happened while you and I were living in Japan when I was station at Camp Hansen. I don't have all the details – only what I could pull off the internet, but there was some kind of malfunction with his aircraft. Instead of ejecting, he guided it away from the neighborhood he was flying over to an open field, where it crashed," Pike said with a grimace. "George's mishap was the day Jim was born. Rough way to come into the world, if you ask me."

"Yes, it would be," Lynn agreed as she exhaled a long, sad breath. She looked down at Chris; her husband was thinking so hard she could hear the wheels in his head turning. Lynn ran her fingers through his hair to grab his attention while she titled her head to the side. "But why all the questions? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've already starting to form an attachment to the young man. Any reason for that?"

"I wish you didn't know me so well, dammit." Chris paused, formulating his thoughts. He ran a calloused hand over the lower portion of his face. "It's just that—I don't know. I don't know what it is, but he didn't seem like a bad kid. Really smart, but misguided. Bored. Probably a hell of a handful."

"…So what you're saying then, if your mother's stories are true, is that he's a lot like you were," Lynn concluded matter-of-factly.

"Something like that," Pike agreed with a grimace. "Remind me not to leave you alone with my mother anymore. Damned woman has way too much ammo on me."

Lynn laughed out loud. "She _is_ your mother! And besides, she loves me." She let the clock on the mantle tick away before she asked, "So, what are you going to do about Jim Kirk, now that you've attracted another stray?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do about Kirk, but I _am_ telling Len you just compared him to a mangy mutt from animal services," Pike replied, angling his neck up so Lynn could see the playful glint dancing around his blue eyes. "He'll love that."

"And how do you know I was talking about Len?" she asked without missing a beat while she arched an eyebrow in his direction.

Chris' wordless dumbfounded expression said it all, though he added for good measure, "Do I really have to go there?"

"You go right ahead if you feel the need. I'll then tell him how you were trying to sneak into your own house like a guilty teenager. Who got caught, mind you." Smug, she added, "Two can play here, my dear."

All at once, the light bulbs in Chris' head went off. He raised one long finger and pointed it in his wife's face while he exclaimed, "You! You're not worried! My annoying shit of a partner told you, didn't he? You were waiting for me, and I know for a fact you're never up this late unless you can't sleep."

Lynn shrugged innocently. At the same time, her eyes drifted up and to the left while she formulated a proper response. With the poker face of a career politician, Lynn gave her noncommittal answer. "I might have had advanced warning from an unnamed little bird who told me that you were involved in an altercation tonight with a suspect, and had some injuries because of it. I also might have heard that while you looked worse for wear, you were, in fact, fine."

Chris crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. The cuts and bruises from his broken nose were certainly doing their job of mitigating his glare's effectiveness, so he stepped it up a couple of notches by using his 'street voice'. "And did this little bird mention the hit of CS spray he took during the same fight tonight?"

"I will have to have a little talk with my little bird about being forthright about his own injuries," Lynn said through narrowed eyes. "But, that's not your concern."

"The hell it isn't."

Lynn slithered out from under Chris' head, learning down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead while she laughed. She gave her husband's shoulder a pat, effectively ending the familiar, lighthearted bickering common in the couple's solid relationship. "Come to bed, dear, before you fall asleep out here. You know what this couch does to your back."

Pike grumbled something about age being a bitch before he hefted himself to his feet. Stretching to the very tips of his fingers and toes, he yawned loudly and blinked his eyes. "Yeah, it's about that time, isn't it? Give me a minute and I'll be in."

"All right," Lynn answered, padding down the hall to the couple's bedroom.

Chris flew past the kitchen table, scooped the used glass off the surface and rinsed it in the sink. He popped open the dishwasher and put it in while he reached for the bottle of booze he left on the counter. Replacing it in the high cabinet, he walked into the rarely used family room and opened the cherry wood rolling antique writing desk that belonged to Lynn's father. He powered on his laptop and waited for the program to initialize before he logged into his ICPD email. Double clicking on McCoy's name, he composed one quick message.

**To**: _'Leonard McCoy'_**  
>From<strong>: _'Christopher Pike'_**  
>Subject<strong>: Important Shit

* * *

><p>Two things, McCoy:<p>

1. You are a traitorous asshole who talks too much, and  
>2. It's your turn for coffee. Make sure it's not any of that sissy flavored shit.<p>

Have a good three off, and behave yourself. That's an order. I'll see you at roll on Wednesday.

-CP

He powered down the machine quickly and stood up, replacing the chair flush against the desk. Pike made a quick check of the locks of his house before he moved down the hallway towards his warm, comfortable bed. But before he could get there, his feet took him on a detour into Ethan's darkened room. The little boy never ceased to amaze his father, nor was he incapable of drawing a smile from Pike's lips. Chris leaned up against the doorframe as he watched his son – the one thing that mattered the absolute most in his life – spend his night curled up in dreamland.

Despite his reluctance to face his own mortality, the advantage of a little age and experience gave Pike the ability to look at his life objectively. As he stood in the dimly lit doorway of Ethan's room, he couldn't imagine the hardship of raising a child as a single parent. Winona Kirk had done it not once, but twice, and the prospect humbled the sergeant. It also inadvertently forced Chris take stock of his own family. It wasn't that he thought his wife was incapable of raising their son on her own. Far from it – Lynn was the strongest, most intelligent person he knew, but the point was that she shouldn't _have_ to.

Call it old fashioned, but Pike was raised to believe that child should, if at all possible, grow up with both parents, and to lose a father as Jim Kirk did was incomprehensible. Though Chris' own relationship with his father was, at times, strained, he at least knew the man. Reading about George Kirk made Pike wonder how, precisely, he would have turned out if his mother had been left to raise her son on her own. He certainly wouldn't have inherited his father's gift for leaping without looking, and that was exactly what he was about to do.

He couldn't change the past, but he was surely capable of influencing the future.

Chris Pike categorized several things in his life as 'works in progress'. Apparently, he was adding one more item to the bottom of the list.

James Tiberius Kirk.

Well, why the hell not?

****—**FIN—**

* * *

><p><strong>Cop terms<strong>: 'OJI' – acronym for 'On the Job Injury'.


End file.
